Made For Much
by Original-Elfkin
Summary: Balthier is tired of the Westersands. Tired of the heat, tired of the sand stuck in every place, tired of his itchy 5 o'clock shadow. But a puzzle involving Vaan presents an entertaining distraction from his troubles. Pre-slash BalthierXVaan


This one can be blamed on an observation recently in a fanvid that Balthier had a "slightly stubly chin". It sent me all sorts of silly places.

Diclaimer: They aren't mine...if they were Balthier would be wearing a lot less.

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**Made for Much**

Balthier scratched irritatedly at the afternoon shadow along his jaw. Nothing was worse than the late day vestige of stubble, mixed with abysmal, sweltering heat. It itched maddeningly.

He looked over at the other two men who might have been suffering a like plight and noticed with disgust that neither seemed to be.

This wouldn't do, not at all. "We're stopping for a break," Balthier announced archly.

Ashe looked predictably insulted that Balthier dared make an order without checking with her first. That in itself made a cessation of their travels nearly mandatory. As Balthier situated himself upon a convenient outcropping of rock, he took leave of his lauded maturity to revel a moment in the (admittedly childish) satisfaction of thwarting their resident pain of a princess.

It had just been one of those days.

The arid Westersands were blisteringly hot and Balthier didn't have a single nook, crevice or fold that the frequent sandstorms hadn't deposited grit into. It was enough to try even _his_ longsuffering patience. The desert seemed to mock him then, taking that moment to launch another series of small dust devils--whirling about the ragtag group, beating them with yes...even _more_ sand.

Balthier slid to the lea side of the outcropping to avoid the worst of the whirling sands until they subsided, contemplating how he could live another hundred years and be glad if he never saw a single grain of it, _ever_ again.

The air finally settled, yet again leaving behind a thin, pale layer caked over everything. The sky pirate stood, cursing under his breath and began the rather futile act of dusting himself off--all the while trying to maintain his customary smug indifference. "My wasn't that exciting," he offered to no one in particular, ignoring a noise coming from Fran that sounded suspiciously like amusement. When Balthier was as clean as he could get--which wasn't _actually_ clean at all--he paced around a moment before picking a spot to seat himself once again. This time it was a bit away from the others, so he could brood in peace for a few minutes.

He was absolutely positive that from a distance, brooding looked convincingly like heroic contemplation.

Before long, his foul mood did indeed lighten into a less indulgent state. He'd been through far more daunting trials, after all--he lectured himself. Balthier, leading man and erudite sky pirate of unquestionable poise and taste could handle the trying princess, the heat, even the benighted _sand_.... Though he swore on his sainted mother's grave he'd never, _ever_ walk this particular desert ever again. There was nothing more absurd in all the world than a sky pirate willingly walking across the open wilderness. When his ship was functional, no less!

A bead of sweat curled and danced its way down his sun pinked cheek, gamely reminding him of his original complaint. Balthier rubbed errantly at it, surreptitiously observing his apprentice-in-the-making. The boy paced impatiently, the very picture of youthful unrest. Balthier tried _not_ to curse Vaan for his complete indifference to the desert's leavings stuck to every part of him--from his disheveled pale hair to his articulated leg armor. As Balthier watched, Vaan quickly lost the newest layer of encrusted desert with each tromp of his feet--his spartan attire easily shedding the accumulations. There was, Balthier reasoned, probably a rationale for the fact that all the southern men--and many of the women--wore either short vests or tight cropped half-shirts. (Besides making them all look slightly absurd, that is.) More than an oddly indiscreet fashion by_ northern _standards, it probably made desert life easier day to day. Nothing for sand to get trapped in, nothing to get sweaty, clingy and annoyingly chaffing in the brutal desert heat. If Balthier didn't think he'd look like a plush catamite, he'd be tempted to try the style out himself. But unlike Vaan, he was far too hairsuit for Dalmascan fashion to suit him--at all.

Speaking of which....somehow the youth in question had been managing to stay beardless their entire journey--without ever seeming to take time out for that particular variety of grooming. Balthier would have said it was _certainly_ lack of years, but seventeen was long enough into a man's age to need a shave at least every few days. And the telling down of _at least_ an early beard should show in between. Balthier himself had been shaving every day, by necessity, since his fifteenth summer. But alas, the thief cum sky pirate's soft features were always utterly bare of any hint of the annoyance Balthier was currently suffering under.

Damn the street rat.

Balthier then looked to Basch, who was busy helping their would-be queen lay out a blanket under the limited shade of a larger, jutting rock. The (literally) errant knight also seemed irkingly unaffected by his facial hair in all this heat. Probably because Basch's beard was grown just long enough to have softened beyond itching. Balthier wrinkled his nose, disgusted by a momentary urge to grow _his_ out, least while they were in the desert. Perhaps the incessant irritation would end but...No. He'd tried it once before and the effect had been_..._

_Less_ than complimentary.

Fran sat coolly down next to him and arched a white brow. Her amusement was clear in the twitch of her lips, the mischievous twinkle in her ruby eyes. Balthier leveled a glance at his partner, daring the Viera to remark upon his unhappy state. "If you mention a thing Fran, I'm afraid I will have to be rather ungallant in seeking restitution."

That garnered one of her rare grins. "I assure you, I am immune to any _Hume _inclination to torture my companions."

"Ah, if that were only so, my dear," he spoke softly. Balthier had always worshiped his Viera partner as much for her rapacious sense of retaliation as for the sublime subtly in which she bestowed it. The excellent breasts didn't hurt.

Balthier eyed her keenly and couldn't help but feel even the _seemingly_ earnest tilt to her head was a bit mocking. Her lilted voice definitely held an air of teasing when she spoke. "The heat here is dry Balthier."

"..." Balthier waited for the rest. Because there _would_ be more. With Fran, there always was.

"If you thirst, I could summon water for you," she offered a little _too_ sweetly.

He leveled a narrow eyed stare at her. 'Never show your fear' took on a whole new meaning with this particular Viera. "No reason for such bother, Fran dear. I can summon water as well." Balthier imagined a Quickening--Tides of Fate would do nicely--and wondered whether the spell would be as effective wiping the knowing grin from his partner's dusky features as it would be at removing the sand and sweat from the entire crew.

He was sorely, _sorely_ temped.

Vaan rescued him from temptation by pacing up to them, thrumming with unspent energy--and Balthier slightly resented the youth for looking so...unwilted. His would-be apprentice stood there, rocking back and forth on his heals expectantly. "Balthier, have you rested enough now? Or are you still too tired to go on?" He said it clear and loud, and it echoed through the desert canyon like cannon fire. If not for Vaan's open expression, free of any malice or intended slight, Balthier might have resorted to violence in the face of that gravest of insults.

As it was, Fran covered her mouth and swallowed an aborted laugh. Balthier pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing in and out slowly--barely holding back an indignant growl as he struggled to maintain his carefree composure. It was clear the boy wasn't being _purposefully_ infuriating...it was simply a gift. An innocent,_ terrible _gift. "I didn't call a halt simply for my own sake, Vaan. I'm more than able to carry on."

"Then why..." Balthier held up a hand interrupting Vaan, lest the boy turn the conversation into a full fledged _round_ of accidental insults.

"Because a good leader knows when not to push too hard. A small break now means no one collapses later."

Vaan made an 'Ah' sound, but just stood there, waiting. Balthier was about to ask him to actually _avail _himself of said break when Vaan started again. "I...I suppose it doesn't hurt..." Vaan looked back at the others, chewing his lower lip.

"So glad you agree." Balthier observed dryly. "Now all you have to..."

"So, _Can_ we go now?" Vaan cut him off. The boy had an expectant look on his face that Balthier likened to a leashed pet he'd seen circling anxiously, eyeing cartwheels and signposts in the Bazaar. He fought off the urge to ask their resident desert brat if he needed to go _walkies_, and instead dropped his chin to his chest in momentary defeat. The chit was going to wear him bald any day now. He simply _was..._Balthier could tell.

The sky pirate peered resignedly up at the youth hidden under pale shocks of filthy hair, about to encourage a private walk ahead to expend some of that energy--when he was struck _again _by the utter lack of even downy pre-beard on the younger man's dusty, tanned face. It was ridiculous...

And horridly, horridly enviable. Balthier wasn't at all used to envying other men...boys, over anything.

"You're staring," Vaan observed a little suspiciously, squirming under the scrutiny.

"Am I?" the sky pirate asked coyly, the blush peaking the youth's features was a sure sign he'd just gained the upper hand. And Balthier, being fundamentally an academic of social practices, was suddenly flooded with curiosity.

"Uh....yeah." Vaan looked askance, switching his weight from leg to leg. "What...have I got something on my face? Is it dirt?" The boy wiped a hand across his cheek, clearing grit away but leaving a swath of dust in its wake.

Balthier almost exploded in laughter at the absurdity. It would be more noteworthy to find someplace on the young thief that was clean. But then they all shared that sad fate at the moment, Vaan just arguably wore it better. In a fit of candor, Balthier gestured for the lad to sit next to him, waiting until Vaan cautiously complied. "As a matter of fact, it's not what you _have_ on your face, but rather what you _don't_"

"Come again?" Vaan eyed him curiously.

Balthier was reminded Fran was at ground zero for spoiling his fun when her ears peaked in interest. He fervently wished she'd give him some privacy. This was gentleman's talk after all--not for the ears of any woman, not even hers. He gave her a charged glance, nudging his chin toward the others and she sighed, taking the hint and rising. Fran flipped her hair behind her back and walked off with what Balthier knew was a purposefully sultry amble. "I shall return once you are sated," she offered in a bored voice.

Vaan squeaked noticeably, blushing even harder. A rueful smile curled Balthier's lips, and he had to once again admire the Viera's brand of vindictive witticism.

"Never mind Fran, Vaan," he patted the boy's shoulder. "You know how clipped the Viera tongue is." _Forked is more like it_, he thought.

Vaan was looking only marginally less alarmed and Balthier sighed, rolling his eyes. Best he cut to the point lest the boy sit there drowning in terror of Balthier's advances. "Relax Vaan, you aren't my type."

"M..male?" Vaan inquired hesitantly.

"Unkempt," Balthier clarified. He was gratified when Vaan actually looked insulted. _Touché_, he thought ungraciously. "And thus are we come to the meat of conversation at hand. I was noticing that despite our trials and your relative state of..." Balthier gestured vaguely at Vaan's filthy clothing. "disarray..."

"Hey! None of us are exactly fresh, not even you!" Vaan roared, drawing looks from everyone else in the impromptu waystop. Penelo giggled and Fran was possessed by a narrow, wicked smirk. It was obvious to Balthier that his not-so-sainted partner was enjoying this far too much. As for Basch...well, the knight was perennially hard to read at the best of times. But Balthier was sure he was hiding at least a small smile. Predictably, Ashe was frowning. He'd never seen a young woman frown so much in all his life. She should have been a middle-aged school mistress, not a princess.

Balthier took another, bracing breath--praying to gods he'd always hated to lend him the patience not to throttle the desert youngling before their quest was over. "That's not what I meant, Vaan. What I was _trying_ to say, was that despite how...challenging it's been to groom this..." Balthier scuffed the back of his knuckles along his jaw. "You seem able to stay ahead of it, and admirably so, might I add." Balthier was either going to find out a convenient Southron trick for keeping ahead of this nuisance, or he was going to find Vaan was simply a lot younger than the thief was claiming. Which, given that Balthier had long noted that Vaan's chest and arms were equally hairless, it was a strong possibility.

Balthier didn't know what to think when his would-be apprentice just sat there, a puzzled look upon his features. Vaan was a smart young man, not that Balthier would ever admit it. But he seemed to be missing the sky pirate's point, entirely. When the younger man just continued to sit there gawping silently, Balthier realized a more direct approach was called for. "You don't have a beard Vaan, and yet I never see you shave."

Vaan's face made an 'Oh' expression that was most comical. And apparently blunt, much to Balthier's dissatisfaction, was the route to take with his young companion. Vaan cracked a bemused grin. "I...uhm...I don't know what to say."

"How you manage it would be nice." _And simple_, Balthier thought causticly.

"Well, I don't manage it, per se." Vaan looked vaguely uncomfortable, while Balthier sat there watching him squirm, hating the taste of frustration. Vaan was making this far, far too hard.

"Are you simply too young to grow one then?" he offered crossly. The heat and itch were beginning to erode even _his_ well bred pretensions.

"What!" Vaan squawked, looking around quickly to see if anyone had heard the older man's accusation. Unfortunately, the rather overdone attempts by the others to look like they _weren't_ listening and subsequently_ weren't_ terribly entertained told him everything he needed to know. Vaan felt his cheeks heat further and Balthier was impressed. At this point the boy might actually combust, at any moment.

"Balthier. I...I don't think you understand," Vaan stammered earnestly.

"Obviously not. So why don't you enlighten me." Balthier was beginning to feel like he was talking to a somewhat dimwitted child--and spoke accordingly. "It can't be that difficult, my dear boy. A potion? A _spell_..." The sky pirate new Vaan might take offense, at his tone if nothing else. But after scratching at his itching jaw for the hundredth time that afternoon, Balthier simply didn't care. Trust the thrice damned _child_ to twist something so simple, into something unnecessarily complex.

But Vaan continued to look mildly discomfited, and failed to offer a single clue--ungenerous youth that he was. Then something new occurred to Balthier. Perhaps it wasn't something Dalmascans were supposed to discuss. "Mayhap it's a cultural issue? Something that befits living comfortably in this heat but is taboo to speak of? As I think back, Old Dolan is the only Rabanastran I've ever seen wear a beard. And between you and I, Dolan has the slightest of northern accents. I expect he was born Archadian." Balthier waited, but Vaan didn't so much as blink, expecting the older man to make some invisible leap of logic. "Do all you southerners pluck the whiskers as they come in--as your manhood approaches? That would certainly explain a lot."

There was a pregnant pause. Then Vaan surprised his mentor by exploding in laughter so hard he doubled over.

Balthier generously waited a moment, struggling to maintain an urbane exterior, if only because Vaan appeared to be genuinely fighting for composure himself. But every time the desert youth almost gained control over his mirth, he seemed to lose it again amid a new cycle of laughter. By the time Vaan managed to marshal his amusement, Balthier was exasperated enough to be pinning the boy with a very dry, very irritated glare.

"I'm sorry Balthier!" Vaan gasped, holding his hands up in surrender. "I...I just thought you might have heard."

"Heard _what_!" Balthier internally cursed himself _and _the boy as Penelo suddenly rose and staggered off into the distance--obviously trying not to burst something vital laughing.

"Well, you're so cultured. I...I just assumed...," he gulped at Balthier's murderous glare and continued quickly. "Balthier, Dalmascan men rarely grow'em. Beards, that is."

In his life Balthier had seen war, murderously foul politics, the best and worst piracy had to offer, and many, many things most people never crawled out of their comfortable little lives to see. And through it all he'd always kept his facade nicely in place. Never before had he been so completely robbed of his veneer, and by nothing more than one exasperating fool of a boy. He was sure he was going to pop a vein in his head, long before he died of the heat--or the bounties on his head. Or anything else for that matter. The boy was simply going to be the death of him. "How. Is. That. POSSIBLE!"

"Don't know exactly," Vaan offered softly, almost shyly. He winced at the look Balthier gave him and moved to quickly explain. "There's...there's some old legend about it. Some really silly, _really_ old story about desert blood being mixed with an ancient people the Occuria once ruled that were--well--fair haired and beardless... among other things. It's way older than the stories about Raithwall. It goes further back than the founding of Rabanastre, least that's what Migelo says. He always told us--the lighter you are, the more kissed by the Ancients your blood is." Balthier's frightening glare slowly morphed into cautious interest. He gestured for Vaan to continue and the younger man didn't dare refuse, despite his obvious uneasiness discussing the matter. "I thought you'd noticed, what with Penelo and me... People in the deserts here aren't dark headed like some northerners. Especially not like Larsa or Vayne. There's an old rhyme about it, I always thought it was kind'a racist. But it... Well... We just don't most of us ever get a beard, or hair in some other places," Vaan rubbed his conspicuously bare arms self-consciously.

Balthier sat there for a moment, utterly stunned. Speechless even. As explanations went, it wasn't _at all _what he'd been expecting. Balthier was becoming annoyed again--with himself this time. He thought hard on all the people he'd seen in the desert, all those in Dalmasca's sprawling capitol. In the markets... On the streets... And it struck him like a blow. Why had he never paid any attention to the fact that the very _darkest _heads he'd witnessed in Rabanastre where just a shade lighter than he. Most were far fairer--Vaan being the extreme. Why had he never thought on all the hairless cheeks, the smooth chests? It was an inexcusable oversight in a man who'd made a lifetime career of studying people.

Then an idea came to him. "King Raminas bore a fine beard, if I recall aright." Balthier was sure he'd caught the youth in a lie now...if only he could figure out why Vaan would make up such an absurd story.

Vaan shrugged, unconcerned. "Rest his spirit, but the King...he wasn't _pure_ Desert blood. Not even close. I don't suspect any of his family ever were. No disrespect meant." Vaan furtively glanced a short distance away, eying Ashe warily. "But I mean, he was the Marquis Ondore's cousin. And...uh...I don't much follow that sorta thing, but even Ashe and Rasler were relatives, I think. It's how the royalty does things, isn't it?"

Of course it was. And Balthier felt like an idiot for not having reasoned it out himself. He wrote it off as the deleterious effects of the heat. But the boy was correct. Centuries of breeding with surrounding nations' royal houses in order to maintain truly ennobled lines would have meant that the Dalmascan Royalty were a diluted race from their very own populace--if indeed the Dalmascan's had something other than hume in their heritage. Eyeing the young man beside him with new appreciation, Balthier couldn't help but think that the House of B'nargin Dalmasca had given up something precious to maintain their blue-bloodedness.

There Balthier sat, desperately needing shave, needing a clean shirt, needing a week to bathe the damnable sweat and sand out of every crack. And there sat Vaan beside him, dust caked and carefree, comfortable in the raging heat. And looking nothing so much as right at home.

A true child of the desert.

Vaan smiled widely and nudged Balthier with his shoulder. "C'mon old man. If all that hair isn't weighing you down, can we get back on the road?

All appreciative sentiments evaporated. Old man?_ Old..._ This meant war. Balthier cocked an arch brow at Vaan. The boy had apparently forgotten his place. It was time Balthier reminded him, and maybe making an exception in his tastes regarding the terminally ungroomed would be a nice place to start. Certainly it would be a pleasant distraction. Balthier leaned closer and leered salaciously at Vaan. "Of course, by all means. But I'd appreciate it if you lead the way for a while."

"Really?" Vaan was momentarily pleased to be out front. But then he stopped, eyeing Balthier suspiciously. "Why?"

"The view from back here is...admirable," Balthier was an artful man at many things--flirting was at the top of the list. The boy had no chance against his charms.

Vaan squawked indignantly. "But why..." Vaan eyed their companions at a distance, bashfully.

Balthier ignored the others and the feel of their eyes upon the two of them. "Oh come now, Vaan. Surely you wouldn't deprive me such a simple pleasure," he demurred.

"But!" Vaan was so pink his ears nearly glowed.

"As you yourself observed, someone as _aged_ as I could do to let the strength of youth lead the way. And you were _so _eager." Balthier treasured battling with words, nearly as much as he loved true combat. And nothing was sweeter than victory over this pretty desert child. No wonder he'd been baiting the boy since they met. "Of course, I'm not so far gone one could call me...._infirm_," he wiggled his brow suggestively. Not that it was a ruse. The more Balthier thought on it, the more he realized an afternoon distraction with the boy was just what he needed. Just what he'd been wanting. Damn Fran for her foresight.

Vaan dropped his eyes and looked askance--his posture radiating awkward embarrassment in every line. "Rabanastran men don't..."

"Don't what?" Balthier smiled invitingly. "Appreciate each other's more... stalwart asset's?"

Vaan only nodded, still not able to look directly at Balthier.

"I beg to differ, Vaan. Although I haven't yet had time to sample their delights, I did notice your city's red light district is charmingly cosmopolitan about such things. I could...show you." The boy's head shot up and he looked right at Balthier then. And what a look! The sky pirate reveled in the hundred things crossing the youth's expressive face... Offense, annoyance, indignancy, panic... And was that a hint of interest? "There's a yonder outcropping--decent enough for privacy," Balthier quietly offered. "No one would miss us." He was certainly _not _feeling like a rest anymore. In fact, if the youth decided not to take him up on his offer, Balthier was going to be saddled with yet another--much lower-- physical burden to manage in this unmanageable heat.

"Why...Why now..." Vaan asked quietly, dropping his gaze away again, swallowing convulsively.

"Oh, that's simple, lad. Now that I've heard how the Occuria made your ilk, I'm terribly curious. Besides which, you might like this sort of thing." Balthier watched as Vaan's brow suddenly furrowed, his jaw clenched--and realized immediately there had been a wiser answer.

"No! I'm sure I _wouldn't_!" Vann gritted out low through his teeth. He was about to rise when Balthier grabbed his wrist, tethering him albeit gently.

Balthier was immediately struck by how lovely the boy's unique warmth was in comparison to the swelter around them. "Are you?" he asked huskily, pouring every ounce of seduction into his voice. "Are you _really_ sure?" Balthier knew how limited experience made the young somewhat prudish at times, but he also knew exactly how easy it was to squirm past social mores. And teenage hormones always helped.

"M...Men aren't made for other men." Vaan didn't sound absolutely sure about that though, and Balthier could taste victory in those irresolute tones.

"True men, my dear boy, are made for much." Balthier's thumb stroked the inside of Vaan's wrist where he held it, encouraged by the shiver it sent up the boy. "And for the moment I have another quest--far more urgent than the previous one." He gestured toward the larger outcropping with a gentle tilt of his head, and saw a final, meager conflict rise in the boy's eyes.

"Balthier, we can't..."

"Oh but we can, my dear Vaan." He leaned in close to the youth's ear and reveled in the warm, male scent--gratified by the jump of thudding pulse at Vaan's throat. "You have to satisfy my curiosity now," Balthier whispered.

"About sex with men?" Vaan speared him with an incredulous, almost insulted look.

"Hardly," Balthier smiled languidly. "I want to know where else you desert sorts _don't_ have hair."


End file.
